When A Lioness Growls (A Lion's Pride Book 7)

by Eve Langlais

  Fascinating technology. In the lion’s pride condominium, all the various apartments had hand print scanners, but for a hotel that might prove a little excessive.

  “Do all the employees have to wear one?” she asked, pointing to Maurice’s wrist. Unlike her golden band, his was a deep red.

  “Everyone on the property has one, even delivery people and maintenance crew. It helps us to identify who belongs.”

  It made her wonder if the liotaur caught on tape had worn one as well. She thought over what she’d seen but couldn’t recall. As they walked to their golf cart that held their bags, she fired off a quick text to Melly.

  “Would you put that thing away?” Jean Francois grumbled. “I’m sure your Facebook status can wait a few more minutes.”

  “Not my fault I have friends who are interested in what I do.”

  “Maybe you should have brought one of your friends with you.”

  Because being a brat was second nature, she planted her hands on her hips and sassed back, “I’m going to tell Dad you’re being mean to me again. I told him this trip wouldn’t help us to bond.”

  His lip twitched. Just a single little muscle. But she saw it.

  “Dad should have worn a condom,” was his retort.

  “And here I thought you were going to say my mom should have swallowed.”

  Poor Maurice choked, and this time, definite lip twitch on Jean Francois’s face.

  I will crack you yet!

  The golf cart they piled into—minus Jan, who they’d left behind at registration—wound around the meandering paths crisscrossing the resort. As they flew through them, Maurice pointed out spots of interest.

  “Tennis courts are at the top end of the resort, along with archery and lawn bowling. The spa is down on the eastern edge of the beach and offers indoor and outdoor options for treatment. There is yoga on the beach at dawn, as well as various other physical classes throughout the day. There is a boathouse on the western edge of the main beach offering boats, paddleboards, and kayaks to those looking for a water adventure.”

  As he rattled off a litany of activities, all of them involving strenuous work and sweat, from her spot in the back, Stacey instead watched her companion’s granite profile.

  The man rarely smiled and didn’t seem at all comfortable in a tropical location. He’d yet to strip off any of his clothes. Pity. She wondered what he hid under those layers.

  As it was, he looked completely and utterly out of place. Given his constant scowl, she’d have to ditch him if her attempt to bait the liotaur would work. No way would anyone try to kidnap her if her brother stuck too close by.

  Given his intense dislike of her—which was surely feigned because hello, I am awesome—it probably wouldn’t be hard to convince him to go in one direction while she went in another. The one that would lead her to the mystery shapeshifter.

  The cart stopped in front of a pink-pastel-colored three-story building. There were two doors per level and numerous windows.

  “This is the Bella building. You’ve been given the top floor, which has the best view.”

  “How many other people staying in the building?” And to cover her curiosity she added, “I’m a bit of a night kitty. I’d hate to keep any guests awake.”

  “Noise won’t be an issue. The middle level is undergoing repair.”

  “And what about the bottom one?” She eyed the pulled curtains with interest.

  “It’s empty.”

  “He’s lying,” Jean Francois said, and Maurice visibly started.

  “I am not.”

  “Tell her.” Her companion didn’t have to add “or else.” The implication came through loud and clear.

  Maurice sighed. “I’m not supposed to talk about it. But apparently the client who was staying in that room”—he pointed to the door ahead of them—“seems to have wandered off.”

  “Wandered off?” Stacey asked. “As in of her own volition? Or did someone coerce her?”

  At the pointed query, Maurice squirmed. “I’m sure she’s fine wherever she is. The island has a very low rate of incidents, and those are rarely violent.”

  “I find that hard to believe. In general, lions and other shifters are a violent bunch.”

  Maurice appeared startled by Jean Francois’s statement.

  Taking pity on him, Stacey said, “You don’t have to hide what we are around my brother. While he might not be a fantabulous shifter like us, he does know about them and will keep our secret.”

  “I hope he can because the island natives are human.”

  “All of them?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “But you’re not.”

  “I’m not from here originally. Any shifters you meet working for the resort have been brought in from elsewhere.”

  “What’s the human-to-shifter ratio on the island, would you say?” At his sharp look, she shrugged. “Just curious. I’m planning a wedding for a friend.”

  “I thought you were here to bond with your brother.”

  “Killing two birds with one pounce,” she said with a wink.

  “We’d probably be closer if she wasn’t working all the time,” Jean Francois stated. “Why don’t you show us to our rooms? Maybe then she’ll try and relax.”

  “If you’ll follow me.” Maurice led them up the stairs to the top floor. A wide balcony ran the length of the building.

  Maurice pointed to the door. “If you’ll flash your wrist here.” She waved it over the black matte square, and with a click, the door unlocked. “You have fifteen seconds to open the door before the lock engages again.”

  Swinging the door open, Maurice swept an arm indicating they should go in first.

  Stacey stepped in, immediately noting the high ceilings and ceramic tile floors, which would help keep the room cool, along with the air conditioning unit blowing full tilt with a noisy whir. The room boasted a giant four-poster bed strung with netting, a two-seater couch and low table, plus a dresser with a television atop it. Everything looked new.

  Stacey tossed her purse onto the floral bedspread before kicking off her shoes to take a peek in the bathroom. Huge and completely finished in white and an aquamarine tile, including the shower that was enclosed in glass. A soaker tub also shared the space, strategically placed in front of the window with a view of the jungle.

  “This will do,” she announced.

  “The other room is identical,” Maurice noted. “The adjoining door between them also works with the wrist band, although you can deadbolt it should you, um, require, um, extra privacy.”

  While she didn’t look at him, Stacey could imagine his red cheeks.

  It was Arik’s idea for Stacey and Jean Francois to have connecting rooms. For some reason, he thought that would keep her out of trouble.

  Has he met me at all?

  Only as Maurice finished their interior tour, pointing out the safe in the closet, the various toiletries available at no extra cost, plus the hidden mini bar, did she ask, “You must know the island pretty well by now. Tell me, where does a lioness go if she wants to tan au naturel?”

  “Already looking for ways to shed your clothes?” Her spoilsport snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Maurice, though, understood her question. “The resort itself, as mentioned, is staffed by a mixture of local humans and shifters who’ve been brought in. We couldn’t make it entirely lions or the local government might have noticed something amiss and protested. As such, we don’t have any safe zones on the grounds themselves, but…” Maurice headed to the wide sliding glass doors that led to the balcony. “Over to the east, there is that dormant volcano I told you about with land that is considered protected space. While people can roam, they are not to damage the jungle or climb the volcano itself. It’s too dangerous. That rule obviously doesn’t extend to any local wildlife. The inside of the volcano is an especially good spot for sun bathing. And if you roar, it echoes.”

  “Awesome.” Because no lion
worth its fur would want to miss a chance to lie in the tropical sun wearing their feline skin.

  “Do you have any questions, sir?” Maurice asked Francois.

  “Where’s the nearest bar?”

  Stacey clapped her hands. “An excellent idea, brother dear. Let us get elegantly wasted.”

  With that, she shooed Maurice out then turned on JF. “Have a drink for me.”

  “What are you planning?” he asked, his arms folded, looking absolutely forbidding.

  And sexy.

  “You heard what Maurice said. The missing Shania was staying on the first floor.”

  “Not even here an hour and you’re planning to break and enter, aren’t you?”

  “Break?” She smiled. “Professionals don’t have to smash their way in. Not when they have specials apps.” She held up her phone.

  “Are you saying you have a lock-picking app on your device?”

  “I’ve got something better. A biatch who knows her coding shit.” She checked her messages and smiled. “And did I mention Melly hacks in her spare time too?”

  She opened the app specially installed on her phone before she left. When prompted, she held her bracelet against it until she heard a beep. Then she reached for his arm. Her fingers made contact with his skin, and a jolt went through her. Static electricity times a zillion and it all coalesced into one place on her body.

  Startled, her eyes met his, and she noticed them glowing. Red.

  Kind of evil.

  Pretty cool.

  And all for me.

  Her lips curved. “Hold your band here for a second,” she said, pressing his wrist against her phone until it beeped. “You can now go anywhere you want.”

  “Will this leave any traces in their system?”

  “Are you calling Melly sloppy?” She snorted. “Of course it won’t. We now have something better than a master key to anything we want in this place. We have a ghost key, which means we can get in and out without anyone knowing.”

  “You do realize if you can do this so easily, so can others.”

  “Exactly, which is why we can’t believe anything they or their computers tell us. So keep that in mind when you’re having that drink.”

  “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone, princess.”

  “Why, sweetcheeks, is this your way of saying you want to come with me to check out Shania’s room?”

  “It’s my way of ensuring you don’t get into trouble.”

  She snickered. “Yeah, just so you’re forewarned, having you nearby won’t stop that from happening.”

  “What excuse do we use if we’re caught?”

  “Excuse?” She scoffed. “Excuses are for pussies. I boldly go wherever I want. If I get caught, I flash some boobs.”

  He looked down at his chest. “Some of us don’t have that advantage.”

  “I don’t know about that, sweetcheeks. An impressive set of abs sometimes works just as well.”

  “So, if caught, whore myself. Is what you’re saying?”

  “I prefer the term using what nature blessed me with.”

  “Or you could just stay out of trouble in the first place.”

  That remark earned him a wet raspberry. “Listen, sweetcheeks, if you’re too chicken to come with me, then hit the bar or stay in our rooms. I don’t really care what you do.” Unless he planned to jerk off. Then she might want to watch. “I’m going.” Out she went, closing the door behind her since he didn’t seem inclined to follow.

  She skipped down the stairs, glad in one respect she didn’t have to deal with him, annoyed in another because she’d not taken him for a rule-following coward. The man possessed the kind of self-assurance seen in someone who led. On a positive note, his lack of adventure detracted from his overall good looks.

  Upon reaching the bottom level, a quick peek around showed no one watching, so she waved her wrist in front of the door and, when it clicked, opened it.

  As she went to step in, a hand slapped over her mouth and she was dragged into the room, and the door slammed shut behind her.

  Chapter Eight

  “Fucking hell!” he yelled as Stacey’s elbow jabbed him in the stomach, her foot slammed down on his instep, and her head slammed back, jarring against his chin.

  His grip loosened enough that she broke free and whirled, spotting him. She didn’t stop, though. Her foot slammed into his ankle, and aided by a firm shove, she sent him toppling to the floor. Then pounced him.

  Surprise at her skills kept him on the ground—that and the fact that she sat atop him, eyes sparking, tits heaving, and the core of her pressed firmly against him.

  His body noticed.

  She also noticed, which meant he was treated to a slow, unfolding grin.

  “Well hello there, sweetcheeks.” She squirmed atop him, and even as his body reacted, his cock hardening to the point of throbbing, he scowled.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “Asks the man who thought he would manhandle me.”

  “I was proving a point that you weren’t paying attention.”

  “Oh please, sweetcheeks, I’m not new at the game of cat and mouse. I knew you were there.”

  “Then why did you let me grab you?”

  “I was hoping you were about to throw me against a wall and ravish me.”

  “Like fuck,” he snapped. Although it had crossed his mind.

  “We could fuck.” She wiggled atop him some more, subjecting him to a cruel form of torture. “Just say please.”

  “Bite me.”

  “Where?” said with a taunting smile.

  Below the belt, duh. A retort he kept to himself. “Who taught you to fight dirty like that?” Because he’d certainly not expected it from her. And yet he should have. He’d seen some of the lionesses in battle before. But Stacey seemed different from them. Softer, more feminine. Obviously he should have paid more attention to the red hair.

  “All of the pride cubs learn how to protect ourselves from birth. Really, sweetcheeks, you should have known better.”

  “Just testing your skills, princess.”

  Let’s test her oral skills. He couldn’t blame the dark beast inside for that suggestion.

  “How did you get in here before me?” she asked. “You didn’t pass me on the stairs.”

  “I jumped from the balcony”—employing a quick shift back and forth that cleared him of all scent—“and let myself in through the back.”

  “Naughty man. You decided to surprise me. How adorable.”

  “I was trying to teach you to be more cautious.”

  “And instead, I taught you not to mess with me.” She leaned forward, close enough that her breath washed over his face, strawberry scented like her lip-gloss. “Since I won this skirmish, do I get a prize?”

  He couldn’t have said why he did it. But next thing he knew, his hand clapped her on the ass, and as her eyes widened, he said, “There’s your prize.”

  “A single spank. Seems rather cheap, if you ask me.”

  “Would you prefer I put you over my lap and paddle your ass?” He could see his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. Especially since her smile widened into blinding territory.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’d enjoy that.”

  “Too bad it won’t happen.” He rolled them suddenly, putting her on the floor so that he could leap to his feet.

  He couldn’t have said if it was man or beast that mournfully howled in his mind, No!

  For a moment, she lay there, too beautiful for words, much too tempting. Even the reminder of her insanity and her feline genes couldn’t stop his desire.

  She wanted it. Wanted him. She’d made that rather clear. He wanted her. Wanted to grab her by that fiery red hair and thrust into her from behind.

  But JF hardened himself rather than give in to his baser instincts. He’d let lust rule his head once, and it almost cost him his life. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

  Turning away from her, he to
ok stock of the room they’d entered. The layout was identical to those upstairs with a few minor differences, namely the mess all over the place.

  “Did they toss her room looking for clues?” he asked as he stepped over and around the various articles of clothing littering the floor.

  “Doubtful. I think what you’re seeing is a genuine slob.” She pointed to the puddle of fabric beside the bed. “This is what it looks like when someone comes in a little wasted from a night of partying and manages to strip and fall into bed.” She turned her finger to the suitcase, clothes overflowing its edges, the colors inside a jumbled mess. “And that is her scrounging for the perfect outfit.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to hang them?” The wrinkles alone made him shudder.

  “Slobs don’t care or have time to do such a thing as fold or hang them in a closet.”

  “You speak as if from experience.”

  “If you’re asking if I’m a slob, then no. I love my clothes too much for that. But I am well acquainted with a few of them in the pride, which is why I feel no guilt whatsoever when I rescue certain items of clothing from them.”

  “You steal clothes.”

  “I prefer the term borrow, sometimes permanently. But only things that truly need rescuing.”

  “Still stealing.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I probably won’t touch your things. But you’re more than welcome to borrow mine.”

  Looking down at himself, then her, he said slowly, “You do realize that even if I were inclined to wear them, they wouldn’t fit.”

  “I know, but don’t you think it was generous of me to offer?”

  The way her mind worked was obviously on a much different level than the rest of the world. He blamed her pea-sized cat brain.

  Moving away from Stacey, JF checked into the bathroom, the countertop by the sink littered with bottles and compacts of color.

  “She obviously didn’t go willingly,” Stacey observed. “A girl who likes her makeup would never take off without at least taking her mascara.”

  “Natural beauty needs no adornment.”

  “Nothing wrong with a little enhancement.”

  Any more enhancement and he might forget common sense.